


No Stars Last Forever

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Hand Jobs, Keith (Voltron)'s Shack, Love Confessions, M/M, Season/Series 01, Top Shiro (Voltron), Virgin Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: It's been over a year since Shiro last saw Keith, ever since the Kerberos mission was lost.And then Keith comes crashing back down to Earth.





	No Stars Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Received a prompt for Age Swap AU with overeager virgin Shiro. This was fun to write but I definitely didn't intend for it to be this long, as usual, RIP me. Also, hey, finally wrote NOT season 6-7 fic. The wonders never cease.
> 
> Thank you to [Juna](https://twitter.com/springofviolets) for reading this over!
> 
> (Edited December 2019 for typos/grammar!)

After Shiro rescues him from the Garrison lockdown, Keith sleeps for about three hours. He looks exhausted and fatigued even in sleep, and Shiro can’t exactly blame him. 

In the meantime, Shiro’s gotten good with silence and with keeping himself busy. He sets up a makeshift blanket pile for the others— Lance, Hunk, and Pidge, he learns their names in turn— out in the main room before retreating quickly to where Keith lies on his dad’s old bed. 

Keith is still as death and Shiro spends the better part of those three hours silently worrying. He’d explained as much as he could to Keith before he passed out, and Keith was able to explain even less. There’s still too much up in the air. 

Shiro’s entire body buzzes with an uncentered, nervous energy— elation, almost, but something more fearsome. Keith is alive. He _knew_ that Keith was alive. And now Keith is here and now Keith is safe. 

He returns to the bedside immediately once Keith begins to stir, already expecting Keith to start thrashing and attacking, as he had the first time he’d woken up. This time, though, Keith seems to know where he is and looks less a cornered animal and more an exhausted man, blinking his eyes open slowly.

His eyes sweep the room and land on Shiro hovering at his bedside, and he cracks a smile, his lips chapped and nearly bleeding from the sudden movement. Keith’s smiles were always rare and beautiful things, and it’s been over a year since Shiro last saw one. Over a year since he last heard his voice. Over a year to be left, lost in a desert, wondering and aching. 

“You were in that spot when I fell asleep, too,” Keith says, closing his eyes. “Did you move at all?” 

“Of course,” Shiro says, and his heart thunders hard in his chest, pressing up into his throat at the way Keith can tease him even now. It’s achingly familiar. It’s been so long since he’s heard it.

He nearly stumbles in his haste to get closer to Keith, planting his knee up on the bed and hoisting himself up to kneel beside him. 

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks. He doesn’t know what to do— he’s spent so much of his life shucking off anybody who’s tried to take care of him, who’s ever pitied him, that he fundamentally doesn’t know how to take care of someone in turn, no matter how desperately he wants to protect Keith now. He wonders if Keith would even accept it, really. 

Instead of answering, Keith just looks at him, tracing his eyes over Shiro’s face. He’s studying him, much the same way that Shiro studied Keith as he slept. 

“Did you get taller?” Keith asks, voice raspy. 

The question startles Shiro, and he lets out a small, embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t. I mean… I don’t think I did?” 

He wonders what Keith’s seeing, his eyes— that impossible color that Shiro’s always loved— staring at him unwavering. That was something Shiro’s always appreciated about the way Keith looks at him: unflinching, unquestioning. He never averts his eyes from Shiro, never looks at him with any sort of pity. He looks at him like he’s worth seeing. 

“Hmm,” Keith hums, and closes his eyes again. 

Shiro shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, hands in his lap. He waits. He can be patient, when he must, and the last thing he wants to do is push Keith too far or startle him. Whatever’s happened to him, it has to be a lot. There are heavy bags under his eyes, deep and blue as bruises, and his cheeks look hollow. There’s the scar dragged across his cheek and the white bangs. Beneath the ripped collar of the outfit he crashed in, Shiro can see beginnings of new scars, not unlike the one on his cheek, and Shiro’s heart clenches.

But otherwise, it’s still Keith.

“You are taller,” Keith decides quietly, mostly to himself. His mouth curves into a small smile, something fond and uncertain. 

Helplessly, Shiro smiles back. “I’m as tall as you are now, I bet.” 

Keith snorts, one of his half-laughs to accompany the small smile. His eyes are soft, looking at Shiro, drinking him in. Shiro can’t imagine he’s changed that much from the person Keith left behind. Not in ways that are visible, anyway. Maybe he does look different. He isn’t sure. 

“How long have I been gone?” Keith asks. 

Shiro doesn’t even pause when he answers, “One year and seven months.” 

“I missed two of your birthdays,” Keith murmurs. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro tells him, a ridiculous thing to say in answer. “I missed yours, too.”

He grins to cover the twinge in his heart at the thought— the day of Keith’s birthday and how many times he sobbed into the sand, out in the desert, begging the stars to let Keith come back. That ceaseless, unfathomable grief that opened up inside him like a chasm, no matter how brutally he shoved it down, no matter how many times he told himself that Keith was still alive and he was going to find him. 

Keith doesn’t need to know that part and so, instead, Shiro says, “We can throw a make-up party for the both of us.” 

Keith’s still smiling, but it’s taken on the melancholy note to its corners, despite Shiro’s efforts. Keith’s always been too good at reading him, and so Shiro isn’t surprised when Keith rolls over onto his side, closer towards Shiro, and lifts his hand to touch Shiro’s cheek. 

His fingertips ghost Shiro’s jaw, in a way that Keith’s never touched him before. His forehead that one time Shiro tried to go to classes even with a fever, sure. A hand on his shoulder, always. But this is new. Shiro swallows at the feeling of Keith’s fingertips touching the line of his jaw, the shadow of his cheek.

After a moment, Keith drops his hand and tucks it beneath the pillow. He doesn’t elaborate on the touch, but that’s always been Keith’s way, too. Keith’s always been somewhat mysterious. 

“I missed you,” Shiro says, which is a pathetic attempt at recreating what he’s feeling. He can’t even begin to put to words the relief and terror he feels, seeing Keith there on the bed beside him— that dragging shadow of grief that sinks its claws at his back, that endless, yawning emptiness. 

Keith closes his eyes, expression pinched. He whispers a quiet, “Shiro.” 

Shiro drops down onto his side, or more like flops, so he’s lying out eye-level with Keith. He waits until Keith opens his eyes before saying, again, “It’s good to have you back, Keith.” 

Keith smiles like he’s wounded and nods. “It’s good to be back.” 

They lie there like that for a long moment, the silence washing into the room from the desert outside. For once, though, Shiro’s willing to greet that silence. It feels less expansive and cosmic and more centered, getting lost in the stars of Keith’s eyes rather than his own thoughts. He could lie here like this with him forever. 

Shiro doesn’t know how long they stay there, just looking into one another’s eyes, but eventually Keith breathes out, eyes shutting. When he opens them again, his gaze sweep around the room. 

“I can’t believe everything’s still here,” he says faintly. 

“You made me your next of kin,” Shiro says. Keith’s eyes flicker towards him, not denying. Shiro scrubs a hand through his hair. “I found out after they declared you… gone. You never told me, they just— I got this place once I turned eighteen.” 

“I did,” Keith agrees, after a moment. “I wanted to make sure you… If something happened, I wanted to make sure someone was looking out for you. You deserve that, Shiro.” 

Shiro makes a soft sound. He turns his head and blinks, rapidly, against the press of tears that threaten to well up. “I’ve been looking after it for you.” He takes a breath. “Until you could come back.” 

“Long commute from here back to the Garrison,” Keith says, his eyes on a crumpled-up pile of Shiro’s clothing, betraying a longer visit than just a night or two. “I’m surprised they let you stay out here.” 

Rather than acknowledge the Garrison, or Shiro’s distinct lack of cadet status there, Shiro pushes up into a sitting position again. 

“I should get you something to wear other than— whatever that is.” A loose-fitting, ragged shirt and bodysuit doesn’t seem the most comfortable thing to sleep in, much less wear casually. He crawls out of the bed and heads towards the closet. 

He feels Keith’s eyes on his back and hears the soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “Don’t think anything here’s going to fit me, Shiro.” 

It’s true that Keith’s old clothes, from a time long before adulthood, won’t fit. And certainly Keith’s dad’s old clothes won’t, either, those barely fit Shiro, the few times he’s had to dip into the supply of clothes to subsidize his mediocre supply. 

He digs until he finds some of his smaller clothes that might fit Keith now. They’re about the same height, so he figures it’ll work. He pulls out a leather jacket that almost fits but not quite, and a loose shirt and pants. He holds them out to Keith and turns away politely as Keith changes. 

When he turns again, Keith’s tugging the shirt down over his chest, the leather jacket left as a bundle on the bed. It’s warm enough in the room itself that the jacket isn’t quite needed yet. 

“Are you hungry?” Shiro asks as he approaches Keith, sitting down beside him on the bed. “Thirsty? Want to sleep more? I can get more blankets—” 

Keith nudges his shoulder against Shiro’s, hair falling in his eyes. “I’m fine, Shiro.” 

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it,” Shiro says, stubborn, turning so he can meet Keith’s eyes. “No matter what it is. Just tell me, okay?” 

“Okay,” Keith says, and he smiles at him. Shiro isn’t sure if Keith will actually do it, but his shoulders ease to hear the promise. 

“Can I hug you?” Shiro asks, abruptly. He blushes immediately afterwards. “If— if it’s okay.” 

Keith’s smile turns tender at the edges, his eyes softening. “You’ve never bothered asking before.” 

Before Shiro can respond to that, though, Keith turns towards him properly and opens his arms. It’s easy for Shiro to fall into him, pressing his face against his shoulder and holding tight, anchoring his hands against Keith’s back. He might be clinging, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed about it. He sucks in a deep breath and feels Keith do the same, his breath hitching. It’s been over a year since he last touched Keith, since Keith last hugged him. 

They hugged for what felt like hours, just before the launch to Kerberos. Shiro had hugged him and hugged him and hugged him until his body almost ached with it, his muscles seizing up after too much stillness, long enough that his bracelets had given a warning chirp. He’d held Keith as if, by some miracle, he might melt into Keith and become part of him, to be carried off into space alongside him. 

If Shiro thinks about it, that was the last time anybody touched him with affection. Until now. 

He melts into Keith’s arms. It’s exactly how he remembers it, aside from the fact that Keith feels more solid than before, firmer muscle on his still-willowy frame. His hair is a little longer, too, maybe, tickling Shiro’s nose as he squeezes closer. 

Keith’s hands rub at his back gently. Shiro wonders if he’s thinking of their hug, too, if that was the last time Keith’d been touched, as well. 

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, quiet, his breath ghosting against his ear. 

“Mm?” Shiro prompts. 

“You’re not with the Garrison anymore, are you?”

Shiro jerks back, eyes wide. He’s flabbergasted for a moment, staring at Keith in a stunned silence, hands on his shoulders.

“H— How did you know?” 

“All your clothes are here, but I don’t see your cadet uniform,” Keith says, nodding towards the closet. He turns his eyes back towards Shiro. “Shiro?” 

Shiro ducks his head, gripping tight to Keith’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Keith tells him, unbearably soft. 

Shiro shakes his head. “The only reason they finally let me in with my condition was because you vouched for me. I let you down.” 

He’s staring down at his lap as Keith’s hand slides up his back and over his shoulder, then lifts to touch his chin. He uses his fingers to tilt Shiro’s face upward so their eyes meet again and Keith’s still damnably gentle, not looking at him with any sort of pity or anger or disappointment. Just, as always, unerringly understanding. 

“Tell me what happened,” Keith says, and it’s a prompting, not a command. 

Shiro breathes out through his nose. “I… After you— disappeared, I just. The higher brass suggested that maybe I should take a leave of absence since obviously your _death_ was negatively impacting my mental health. So I just— I quit.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says, alarmed. 

“I know, I just… I couldn’t stand it. They were all acting like you were dead but I— I knew you weren’t… I’d have felt it. I thought. I thought I’d have known if you were gone, and it didn’t seem right, and nobody listened when I insisted. They kept…” 

Here, he pauses, face twisting with a renewed frustration, a simmering anger that threatens to boil over. He’s left these thoughts unexamined for the better part of months, ever since he quit and ran off into the desert, to live in Keith’s childhood home and _miss him_ with such a deep longing. 

It was easier to ignore it all then, when he could just hyper-focus on the _feeling_ he had, to study the mountains and the figures and drawings he found out there. He hasn’t even explained all that to Keith yet, but there’s time. They have time now. 

Shiro looks at Keith and feels that anger mount on his behalf. He spits out, “They kept acting like it was your fault!” 

Keith just grunts. 

His anger mounts. He can feel it, slicing through him, something hot and ugly. His hands clench. “They kept… They never— It was like, oh, of course Keith Kogane would mess up. Of _course_ the mission would fail due to pilot error. That Keith Kogane, he always piloted recklessly! As if you’d ever— as if you’d ever do something stupid to put the Holts in danger!” 

“Shiro,” Keith says again, hushed. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro says, with feeling, and presses his hands to his face, covering his eyes. He feels the prickle of tears, can feel the way his voice wavers, betraying his upset. It shouldn’t affect him this much. It _shouldn’t_. He should be stronger than this. He whispers, hot and angry, “Fuck them, Keith. Why would I want to fly with them if that’s the way they treat their pilots?”

“It was your dream,” Keith says, soft, his fingers curling around Shiro’s wrists, just above where the bracelets rest at his tendons. 

And Shiro knows that, too. 

He lets Keith draw his hands away, blinking back the tears welling in his eyes, hot and stinging. His lip wobbles but he doesn’t try to hide his face. Keith touches his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye even though none of the tears have fallen. 

“Yeah, it was,” Shiro admits. “But I don’t need them to fly. I— I couldn’t stand the way they talked about you.” 

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith stresses, and there’s a waver to his own voice, a guilt that seeps in. _I’m not worth it,_ Keith doesn’t say, but Shiro knows him and hears it anyway. 

Shiro’s already shaking his head, lifting his hands and cupping Keith’s face. He’s never touched him like this before, but it feels necessary and Keith doesn’t draw away from the touch. Shiro lurches forward and presses his forehead to Keith’s, tethers himself to him— never, ever wants to let go. 

“I’ll find other ways to fly,” Shiro assures him. “It’s okay, Keith. It’s— it’s okay.” 

_You will always be worth everything,_ he doesn’t say, but thinks Keith might understand. 

“I knew,” Shiro says, quiet. “I knew you were still out there. I looked up at the sky every night and thought that you were just— lost. That I could find you.” 

“Shiro.” 

Shiro nearly squirms with it, the need to explain everything, a need to assure Keith that he was just on the edge of figuring it all out, whatever it was, whatever it might be that’s kept them apart so long. But he doesn’t know how to put it into words much less how to draw away from Keith when all he wants is to sink closer to him and never let go. It’s a physical ache inside him, everything pulsing out from his heart. 

They stay like that, pressed together at their foreheads. Shiro watches Keith’s expression as it ripples, so many thoughts written out on his face only for it to be left unexpressed. They’re silent and, after a moment, Shiro just closes his eyes and lets himself feel it. Keith, there beside him. The press of their foreheads together. The sound of Keith breathing. 

“Some mentor I turned out to be,” Keith says, faintly, self-deprecating. And Shiro snorts. He can’t help it. Keith looks perplexed for a moment and then frowns, eyebrows pinching. “What?” 

“Sorry, it’s just… Remember what you said, that day I asked you to mentor me?” Shiro asks and waits. Keith looks petulant and Shiro lifts his eyebrows. “Well?” 

“I said that you’d be better off finding somebody else,” Keith answers. “So?”

“And what did I say?”

“Shiro…” Keith sighs. 

“Come on.” 

“You said you’d be the judge of that.” 

Shiro nods, and knows he must look triumphant. But Keith continues to give him a blank look. Shiro sighs, drawing away so he can look at Keith properly. He keeps his hands touching his cheeks, afraid that if he were to pull away now, Keith might never let him touch him like this again. 

“I didn’t need you as a mentor. You taught me a lot, sure, but really, I just wanted to be friends.” He shrugs, helpless, smiling a little. “And we’re friends, right?” 

Keith laughs, disbelieving and a little pained. “You brat.” 

Shiro grins and laughs, too, just on the edge of heartbroken. “Without you, my life—” He shakes his head. “I was just a stupid kid with a stupid dream. Nobody believed in me. But you always did.” 

“I did,” Keith says, quiet. “I do.” 

“And not because you felt sorry for me,” Shiro agrees. “You’ll never know what that means to me, Keith.” 

“Oh, Shiro,” Keith says quietly, mournfully. 

“… Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Shiro asks before the silence can stretch between them.

Keith’s smile turns almost shy, and his hand lifts to brush some of the hair back from Shiro’s face. It’s been growing out again. Shiro’s considering getting himself an undercut to keep it from tickling his ears. He’s always hated that tickling feeling. 

“Thank you for finding me,” Keith says, quietly, instead of answering Shiro’s question. 

Shiro manages a jerky nod. 

“I’ll always find you, Keith.” 

He knew what life was like without Keith before, but that was before he knew Keith. Now, he knows exactly what a life without Keith is, and he never wants to feel it again. He knows that weight, that endless, unspeakable night that stretches so far beyond the shape of his body. 

Keith laughs, quiet and fond. “I know… You really will, huh?” 

Shiro watches Keith for a moment, and then mimics the way his fingers touch his hair. He reaches out and touches Keith’s, brushing the white bangs away from his face, tucking a longer piece behind his ear. 

He can’t help but let his thumb linger, touching the long line of the scar against his cheek. 

Keith is here, alive and present. His cheek is warm beneath Shiro’s touch. 

His eyes catch on Shiro’s and hold. 

The desert is never actually quiet; there’s always something washing in through the thin walls of this little shack. But somehow, looking at Keith now, there’s only a hush that starts in Shiro’s heart and blooms outwards. Something stilling, not from fear but from acceptance. 

Keith is here. Keith watches him, eyes tracing over his face. For half a moment, he almost seems to lean in against Shiro’s touch, fingertips pressing to his cheek. 

Shiro lurches forward and kisses Keith before he can think to stop himself. 

It’s only for a breath, just Shiro pressing his mouth to Keith’s and holding. His entire body trembles as the reality of what he’s just done sets in, but he’s stubborn and stays there for a full beat before he draws back, biting his lip. He’s almost afraid to meet Keith’s eyes, but he’s always been reckless— that’s what made them friends in the first place. 

He looks up at Keith. Keith stares at him, stunned. “Shiro—” 

Shiro steadies himself, shoulders tightening against the inevitable rejection he knows is coming. But he can’t regret it. 

“I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry for kissing you,” he’s quick to say. “I know it’s not the best timing. You only just got back and we don’t know what’s happened yet, but…” 

He thinks of the day the mission left, of watching the _Persephone_ hurtle upwards through the atmosphere until it was out of sight, until its trail disappeared, too. Remembers thinking, _Once he’s back. I’ll tell him._

Too many people have left Keith, have disappeared while he was busy moving forward. This time, there’d be someone standing behind him, no matter what. 

“Anyway,” Shiro says, hurried. “I mean. I know before all this, you were with James and then that didn’t work out and then it was— well. I mean. I know I’m probably just a dumb kid to you, anyway. But I— you know. I, uh. I know I’m pretty obvious…” 

Keith blinks at him. “I don’t think you’re a dumb kid, Shiro.” 

“Okay,” Shiro sighs out. His shoulders sag in relief. He draws in a deep breath. “Keith. Last chance— tell me if you’re hungry or want to sleep more. Otherwise, I’m… you know. It’s about to get awkward.” 

Keith gives him a vaguely alarmed, but amused look, if that’s possible. “Awkward how?” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, “I love you.” 

It’s a lot like the first time he ever got to fly outside a simulation: in the Garrison on Keith’s recommendation, overriding doctor recommendations, just the feel of the plane responding to his commands, the wind metaphorically in his hair. So up high that nobody could touch him. Free. Happy. Living. 

Keith has always felt like that, too— Freedom. Acceptance. Understanding. Saying the words coiled up inside him now, after so long fearing he’d never have anyone to hear them, leaves him feeling like he’s floating. 

Keith smiles, a tentative thing. His smile says, _I know_ but what leaves his mouth is, “I love you, too, Shiro.” 

It’s not enough. Shiro takes a deep breath and leans closer, pressing. “I’m _in_ love with you.” 

That lands. He watches Keith’s eyes widen. It isn’t surprise at the words— Shiro’s not an idiot, and neither is Keith, and Shiro knows he’s never been particularly subtle about his crush— but rather, he suspects, surprise that Shiro would say it now. 

“I’m not expecting anything,” Shiro says, which is kind of a lie, but he has to say it anyway. He can make it the truth, with time. “I just… I wanted to tell you.” 

“Thank you,” Keith says, faintly, which is almost as horrible as hearing _I’m sorry._

“Told you I’d make it awkward,” Shiro says, but can’t quite regret having said it. Keith stares at him in a quiet sort of wonder. 

“I—” Something pinches in Keith’s expression. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Shiro’s quick to say, even as his heart wilts. 

Keith makes a mournful sound, pushing his white hair out of his face and ducking his head. He looks so small for a moment, not the cool and mysterious mentor Shiro once approached years back, nothing like the way Garrison cadets described Officer Kogane, like he was something cool and untouchable, a solid slab of ice from Jupiter’s moon. 

“You deserve to hear it,” Keith mutters.

Shiro catches Keith’s hand as he starts to withdraw, keeping him there. “I hear it. Every day. I— Keith. You’re the first person who ever took a chance on me. I… owe you everything.” 

“You don’t owe me anything for doing what should just be… Everyone should—” Keith fumbles, expression pinching. He looks untethered, blown away. 

A moment later, something quieter darkens Keith’s face, his eyebrows pinching, his mouth down-turning. 

“I’m not fully human, Shiro,” Keith tells him, eyes lifting to meet Shiro’s, waiting. 

Shiro stares at him for a moment. Then he frowns, thoughtful. 

“Okay,” he says, after a moment. 

“Okay?” Keith parrots. 

Shiro nods. “Whatever you need from me, Keith, I’ll give it to you. Even if you’re like— a werewolf or something.” 

“Wer— Shiro,” Keith sighs, but his mouth twitches with a smile and the darkness clears from his eyes. He lifts his hand and punches Shiro lightly in the shoulder. “I’m being serious.” 

“Me too! Do you realize how cool you’d be as a werewolf?” Shiro asks. “You could grow that beard you keep telling me you wish you could grow.”

Keith snorts and shoves Shiro again. Shiro topples backwards onto his back with a startled laugh, staring up at the ceiling. He pushes himself up onto his elbow and looks at Keith. 

“But I’m serious. If you’re… not human,” Shiro says, cautious with his words. “I’m still your friend.” 

Keith smiles at him and it lights his eyes up like the stars in the sky. Shiro doesn’t melt, but it’s an almost thing. 

“Are aliens as cool as werewolves?” Keith asks.

“Definitely,” Shiro assures him. 

Keith laughs and duck his head. His hair falls and covers his eyes and, for a moment, Shiro’s afraid that Keith’s going to start crying. A beat later, though, Keith seems to steady himself, looking up again and pushing his hair back and away from his face. He smiles at Shiro, expression fond. 

“How do you always know what to say?” Keith asks him and his voice sound a little watery.

Shiro scrambles up onto his knees and crawls to Keith, reaching for him. Keith’s already leaning into the circle of his arms before Shiro gets a proper hold on him, but he holds steady as he hugs Keith tight, pressing his nose into his hair. He holds him as tight as he can, as if that might protect him against the universe. 

“Is the white hair an alien thing, then?” Shiro asks, tentatively, once they draw away. 

Keith laughs and tugs at his bangs, white and limp against the inky black of the rest of his hair. “It’s a little weird, huh? I look weird.” 

“You look—” Shiro begins and fumbles over the words. “Beautiful,” he says, pressing it out. “You’ve always… you’re beautiful, Keith.” 

He feels the blush creeping up his cheeks and tinging his ears as Keith slides his eyes up to look at him. 

“I mean,” Shiro continues, filling that silence in a fumbling, uncertain stuttering. “I always thought that—” 

“Shiro,” Keith says, quiet, stilling him. 

Shiro swallows. “Yeah?” 

Keith looks at him for a breath before his hand slides up at the back of Shiro’s neck and tugs him down, kissing him gently. Shiro audibly gasps, which is embarrassing, but he pushes past it in favor of kissing Keith back, enthusiastically. 

“Softer,” Keith whispers and Shiro blushes but obeys, gentling his touch. 

Keith’s hand slides from the back of Shiro’s neck to touch his cheek, guiding him in close. His mouth is soft against his, just a little slide, a hush of breath. Shiro can’t help the small sound, the rush that coils through him, the thunder of his heart. He whimpers and presses closer to Keith, feels the slide of Keith’s tongue, the whisper of his teeth against his bottom lip. 

Shiro opens to him, gripping his shoulders, unsure what to do with his hands, what to do with his mouth other than to open to Keith and let Keith guide him. 

When Keith draws away, Shiro isn’t panting, but he feels breathless. 

Keith’s thumb brushes over his cheek and then down to his mouth, tracing the swell of his bottom lip. Shiro knows he’s staring, blinking at him in no small amount of wonder. 

“Keith,” he whispers. 

There’s a pause, and then Keith smiles at him, leaning in and kissing the tip of his nose. 

“I missed you, too,” Keith says. “Every day, Shiro.” 

Shiro lets out a little hiccupping sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and he pushes forward again. He hesitates just before kissing Keith, but Keith’s smile gentles and he meets him the rest of the way, pillowing his mouth to his. It’s a sweeter kiss, slower and more drawn out. Shiro’s balance is off-center, all his weight pressing on his hands as he leans into Keith’s space. He kisses him, balancing on one hand and lifting the other to touch Keith’s chest, then his stomach, unsure where to rest his weight, what to touch. Feeling bold, he lets his hand drop, pressing to Keith’s crotch. 

Keith sucks in a sharp breath into the kiss and tips his head back, blinking at Shiro in surprise. 

“Oh,” he whispers. 

“Keith, what do you need?” Shiro asks, desperate, hand skimming back up to his stomach. “I’ll do anything. Whatever you want. Just tell me.” 

Keith smiles at him, almost entirely too small and boyish. “You keep saying that.” He leans up, pressing kisses against Shiro’s jaw, nosing at his cheek. “You don’t need to do anything, Shiro. You’re perfect just like this.” 

Shiro laughs, like Keith’s making a joke, but Keith just presses a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth and lingers. 

“You haven’t done this before,” Keith murmurs.

Shiro blushes up to his ears. “You know I haven’t.” 

Keith’s smile is sympathetic when he draws back. “I’m not sure I can be that great of a first, Shiro.” 

“Would you stop talking like that?” Shiro asks, grabbing the front of Keith’s shirt and hauling him closer. “You heard what I said. How I feel. You’re not… going to tell me I’m mistaken or something like that, are you?”

Keith shakes his head. “No.” 

And Shiro knows Keith would never, but still he gives a small, relieved nod. “You can show me, then, right? Talk me through it.” 

“Is that what you want?”

“Is that what _you_ want?” Shiro shoots back. “Keith, I don’t— you don’t owe me anything. I—”

Keith makes a sound and leans in, kissing him gently. “Don’t,” he whispers against his mouth, nose brushing Shiro’s. “I know. Please, don’t.” 

Shiro quiets and presses forward, kissing Keith soundly. He still isn’t quite sure what he’s doing, but Keith makes a soft noise that makes Shiro think he must be doing something right. When they draw away again, it’s only so they can look at each other, a weighted silence settling on them. 

Keith’s quiet for a moment and then he sighs out, lifting his hands and touching Shiro gently, sliding his hands up his arms. “Okay,” he murmurs, looking at him. “Shiro… come here. Take off your shirt.” 

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. He scrambles to get closer to Keith, ripping his shirt up over his head so quickly he nearly gets caught in it. When he emerges from it and tosses it aside, Keith’s expression is lighter, amused. He doesn’t look quite so exhausted, quite so haunted, if only for a moment. He scoots himself up the bed so his back is pressed to the headboard and Shiro wriggles out of his socks. 

Keith’s eyes drag down over Shiro’s chest, drinking him in. Keith’s always been observant, always surveyed Shiro with a great deal of scrutiny. Like any other time, his gaze now doesn’t feel judgmental or assessing, more just memorizing each dip and shape of him. Shiro feels himself start to tremble just from the fact that Keith’s here, that Keith’s looking at him like this. 

“What should I be doing?” Shiro asks, crawling closer to Keith and watching the way Keith’s eyes seem to darken from the movement. Shiro wishes he had entire floor to crawl across just so Keith will keep looking like that. “Keith, let me make it good for you.”

“You’re so eager,” Keith whispers, more to himself. He looks around with a sigh. “I don’t know how much we can really do, considering. There are people in the other room, right?”

Shiro had literally forgotten all about them the moment Keith’s eyes opened. He blinks at him owlishly, shocked. 

“And besides,” Keith says, maybe failing to notice Shiro’s floored look, “There isn’t really— hm.” 

He looks shy and it’s only as Keith’s cheeks turn pink that Shiro realizes what he means. He nearly falls all over himself to get to the bedside drawer, cheeks turning pink as he digs around and then turns to show Keith the bottle of lube (nearly empty, which is also embarrassing). He clears his throat. 

“This, you mean?” Shiro asks. 

Keith looks both aroused and painfully uncomfortable. “You do know this used to be my dad’s bed, right?” 

“Pretty sure that was your dad’s shirt, too,” Shiro admits, nodding towards the shirt he tossed on the floor. 

Keith stares up at the ceiling for a moment, taking a steadying breath. Then he holds out his hand for the lube. “Okay, enough. No more dad talk when you’re looking like that. Jesus Christ.” 

“You brought it up!” Shiro protests, handing over the bottle and then squirming his way up to Keith. He toys with the hem of Keith’s shirt, tugging once before he pulls it up, waiting for Keith to lift his arms so he can get it off him. 

The hem pushes up his hair and once Shiro tosses the shirt aside, it all comes falling back to frame his face. Shiro leans in again and kisses him, tries to match the way it felt for Keith to kiss him— going slow, taking his time, swallowing the little breath Keith makes. He presses close, follows his instinct and feels Keith sigh. He must be doing something right, then. 

Keith bites his lip and Shiro gasps, mouth opening and Keith presses closer, licking into his mouth. His hands brush across Shiro’s stomach and then down, teasing at his belt and undoing it with slow precision that makes Shiro start to tremble. It isn’t nervousness, not really. 

“Are you loud?” Keith asks once he draws back, pressing one last peck to Shiro’s lips. “Do you know?” 

“I can be as loud as you want me to be,” Shiro says, hurried, then bites his lip when Keith cups him through his jeans. 

“None of that,” Keith whispers. “Shiro,” he says. “I don’t— you don’t need to perform. Just be yourself. That’s all I want.” 

Shiro only half-hears the words, his chin tipped down so he can stare at the way Keith’s hand presses to his crotch. He’s a little addicted to the sight of it, if he’s honest, and it’s barely a touch at all. But it’s also been the starting point for any number of fantasies Shiro’s nursed over the years. 

“We’ll just see how it goes,” Keith says, and maybe he sounds a touch nervous, too. 

“Wow, okay. Wow. Okay. Okay… Okay!” 

Keith starts laughing. Shiro can’t blame him— he knows he sounds like an idiot right now. He grins, helplessly. 

“Sorry,” he says, laughing. “I just— I never thought—” 

Keith cups his face and kisses him again, slow and sweet. Shiro’s breathless when he draws back. 

“You don’t have to think too hard,” Keith tells him, stroking his thumb over his cheek. “You’re good, Shiro. You don’t owe me anything, either. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Shiro answers, and smiles. He laughs again, breathless and overwhelmed. “Just… Wow. You’re you. You’re here.”

“I am,” Keith agrees.

“And I love you,” Shiro says again and kisses Keith before he has to say it back, or not say it. Keith sighs and cups his face. 

He stops kissing Keith only so he can look at Keith’s face as he wriggles out of his jeans and underwear. He’s half-hard just from feeling Keith kissing him and he watches the way Keith’s eyes sweep over him again. Keith’s eyes on his cock is enough to get it to twitch a little and harden. 

He reaches out and pulls at the zipper and button to Keith’s pants. Keith doesn’t protest, only lifting his hips to make it easier for Shiro to tug the clothes off. Once fully naked, Shiro can’t help but stare. There are scars, yes, including a particularly nasty looking one slicing down his shoulder towards his chest, and he’s more muscular than Shiro remembers, but he’s beautiful. 

Shiro can’t help but stare for a long moment at Keith’s cock. It’s pretty, long and thin, curving slightly where it rests between his legs. It might be the light, but it almost looks lavender at the tip. 

“Like what you see?” Keith teases when Shiro’s apparently stared for too long to be considered subtle, not that Shiro was aiming for subtle. 

“You’re really beautiful,” Shiro says, entirely earnest, and watches Keith’s entire face turn red. 

“Geez,” Keith breathes out, flushed. “You’re the pretty one. Look at you. When’d you get so handsome?” 

Shiro shakes his head, glancing down at himself and then back at Keith, almost shy. Keith makes sure Shiro’s looking before he rolls his eyes and then crooks his finger at Shiro in a _come here_ gesture. Shiro’s quick to obey him, hurrying into his space. 

Instead of kissing him, as Shiro expects, Keith reaches out and curls his hand around his cock and gives him one definitive tug. Shiro gasps, hips jerking up almost immediately as Keith twists his hand, squeezing experimentally around him, testing the weight and girth of his cock. 

“This is pretty, too,” Keith murmurs against his ear and Shiro shudders out a small gasp and rocks up into his hand. 

He twists his hand, stroking him steadily despite Shiro’s jerking hips, twisting up at the cockhead and squeezing before sweeping back down, fingers curled loose but firm. Shiro lets out a soft, keening sound and drops his head against Keith’s shoulder, squirming closer. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, still, and so he skims them over Keith’s sides, across his ribs and down his stomach. He feels the rise and fall of his breath, his belly.

“Keith,” Shiro whimpers, feeling overwhelmed just by the touch of Keith’s hand. He turns his head, pressing a few sloppy kisses to the slope of Keith’s neck, nuzzling back into his hair and panting in his ear. 

He isn’t sure what Keith’s other hand is doing until he hears the pop of the lube’s bottle, a sound he’s more than familiar with. He hums out a little, expectantly, and squirms up into Keith’s hand, rocking a little, feeling that mounting pleasure and gripping tight to Keith’s waist— small, slim, fitting right in his hands. 

He pulls away from Keith’s neck in time to see Keith lube his fingers up and press them behind himself, teasing at himself. 

“I’m supposed to be doing that,” Shiro says in a rush, face red. 

Keith laughs. “You aren’t _supposed_ to be doing anything.” His voice goes softer and he leans in, squeezing Shiro’s cock and brushing his mouth against Shiro’s. “Just do what feels right.”

What feels right is for Keith to tell him what to do, but Shiro doesn’t know how to put that request into words. He wants to be good, wants to do everything perfectly, exactly as Keith likes it. Instead, he’s on his knees, dumbstruck by Keith’s ridiculously hot display of ambidexterity. He watches Keith take a deep breath, body arching, as a finger slips in. He squeezes hard at the base of Shiro’s cock. 

“You’re already so flushed,” Keith coos, his smile sweet. 

Shiro makes a soft sound. “Don’t tease me.” 

“I’m not,” Keith says and strokes his cock one last time before lifting his hand away. He pets his fingers gently through his hair, cradling him close, his smile light. 

“Why don’t you try sucking me off while I do this, if you’re so eager to do something?” 

“Oh!” Shiro gasps, so eager to do as Keith says that he nearly headbutts him in his haste to move. Keith laughs, bright and unrestrained, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. 

Shiro doesn’t really know how to do it, beyond the obvious— he’s a virgin, not a monk— but he’s determined to do it well, determined to make Keith feel good. He squirms down, folding his legs beneath him, sadly losing the shape of Keith’s hand around his cock, and settles between Keith’s spread legs. 

He stares for a moment at the finger disappearing inside Keith, his hole shiny with lube as he squeezes inside. He stares and he stares, unable to look away, torn between watching that and staring at Keith’s cock, gorgeous and beading precome at its tip. 

He glances up at Keith to find him already smiling down at him, his smile less teasing now and more endeared. He tangles his fingers in Shiro’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead and holding there, cupping the crown of his head, his thumb circling at his temple. 

“Want me to walk you through it?” he offers. 

Defiant, Shiro takes his cock in his hand and strokes, mimicking Keith’s pace on his own cock. He watches Keith inhale sharply, chest swelling, and the slightest way he lifts his hips. 

“Tell me how you like it, instead,” Shiro decides, propping himself up on his elbow and squirming into a more comfortable position. It means his cock is pressing down against the blanket, which is nice in its own way, and he’s more eye-level with Keith’s cock. 

“Go slow,” Keith murmurs. He tugs so gently on Shiro’s hair that it’s almost not even a touch. “It’s been a while… I want to last.” 

“Okay,” Shiro answers, a small part of him wanting to be petulant and just immediately choke on his cock.

He ends up doing that anyway when he tries to get his mouth around him and goes too deep. He pulls back immediately and coughs, blushing. 

“Oops.” 

Keith snorts at him. “Shiro. Please.” 

Shiro squirms back in again and instead licks Keith’s cockhead experimentally. Keith sighs, fingers carding through his hair, so he takes that as a good sign, licking first at the head and its crown, then down along the thick vein, sliding down the length of him. 

He uses Keith’s sounds as his guide, lingering whenever he hears Keith sigh, pressing closer when he feels him start to squirm, fueled on by the solid jerks of his hips. He wraps his lips around the cockhead and suckles gently, lapping his tongue at the slit. 

He watches Keith’s stomach flex, feels his hand tighten in his hair. The other hand squirms to press a second finger inside himself, scissoring lightly and stretching. 

“Like that,” Keith whispers, head tilted back so he’s looking up at the ceiling, body arching. “Like that, Shiro. Use your tongue, yeah.” 

Shiro shudders and does as he says, wrapping his tongue around the cockhead as he pillows his lips, planting his tongue flat against the head before swirling. He keeps his hand on the base of Keith’s cock, guiding it into his mouth. He can’t take him too deep without choking, too unused to it, but he’s already addicted to the sounds Keith makes, the heavy feeling of Keith’s cock on his tongue. 

“Good boy,” Keith whispers, hushed, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it, and that gets Shiro to shudder, swallowing hard around him. “Look at you. You’re so good.” 

Shiro keens and swallows deeper, pushing his limits. He tries to swallow as much of Keith as he can, relaxing his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. Keith holds himself still, letting Shiro bob down against his cock rather than rocking into his mouth. Shiro lays his tongue flat against the underside and milks him deeper into his mouth. 

Shiro draws back to breathe, harshly through his nose, huffing out a soft breath before dragging his hand over Keith’s cock until he’s slick from base to tip. He licks and drags his lips down Keith’s cock, nuzzling a little and breathing Keith’s name, eager to pull every known sound he can from Keith’s lungs. 

He watches Keith squirm, the tremble of his hips, the way his fingers circle inside himself and spread. Shiro touches at the spot, fingers brushing Keith’s knuckles, the gentle webbing of his fingers. Keith's fingers are slick with lube and Shiro glances up at Keith to find Keith watching him, too. 

Shiro doesn’t break eye contact as he suckles at the root of Keith’s cock, tongue lapping slowly at his skin. Keith huffs a breath, tugging playfully on his hair. 

“Look at you,” he breathes.

“Rather look at you,” Shiro answers, dropping his eyes down to the place where Keith’s fingers disappear inside him. “Can I—” 

“I’m almost finished,” Keith tells him. “It’s quicker this way. You can next time.”

Next time. The promise shoots through Shiro’s spine and he whimpers, then tries to cover the sound by lapping at Keith’s cock. 

“I want it to be good for you,” Shiro says between kitten licks. 

Keith laughs, breathless and warm. “It is. It will be. Hey…” 

His hand leaves Shiro’s hair and cups his cheek, tilting him up to look at him again. He smiles, thumb pressing over his bottom lip, mouth swollen from sucking cock. 

“Come up here,” Keith whispers, pulling his fingers out from inside himself. “Fuck me.” 

Keith leans back, slipping down the headboard and making Shiro shift back to make room for him. He watches Keith settle, on his back and hips angled up, his cock flushed against his stomach, a streak of precome making his abs shiny. 

Shiro feels utterly breathless but is, as always, quick to follow Keith’s instructions, crawling up his body until Keith’s caged in by his arms. Shiro pushes Keith’s dual-colored hair out of his face and leans in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Keith gives him an amused look. 

“Hi, handsome,” Shiro says. 

“Shut up,” Keith answers, smiling. “Don’t be cute.” 

Shiro grins at him. He hooks his hands under Keith’s knees and pulls him in closer and hitches his legs up, grinning wider when Keith squawks in surprise. 

“Walk me through it?” Shiro murmurs before he dips down to kiss Keith.

He feels Keith sigh and arch beneath him, feels his hand squirm between their bodies. His fingers curl loosely around Shiro’s cock and guides him forward until his cockhead presses up against Keith’s hole. 

With Keith’s help, Shiro presses into Keith. He moves slow, slower than his body aches for, but the last thing he wants is to hurt Keith and so he lets Keith set the pace, his fingers curled around Shiro’s cock and guiding him inside. Shiro bites his lip, holds back the sounds and the trembling in his shoulders. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, looking up at Keith.

Keith looks similarly affected, adjusting to the penetration. His legs shift and curl loosely around Shiro’s hips, crossing at the ankles and locking in at the small of Shiro’s back. 

“I’m good,” Keith tells him. “Wow, you’re big.” 

“Sorry?” Shiro asks, grinning. 

Keith laughs. “Wasn’t complaining. But you knew that.” 

Shiro did, but he still preens a little. Keith rolls his eyes, letting go of Shiro’s cock now that he’s deep enough aside to push himself forward. He strokes his hands over Shiro’s chest and up to his shoulders, down his arms. He brushes the parts of his wrists that he can reach around the bracelets, and then takes his hands, curling their fingers together. 

Shiro’s smile goes tender when Keith presses a kiss first to one set of Shiro’s knuckles and then the other, then guides Shiro’s hands up to tangle in his hair. It means Shiro’s hunching down closer to him so they’re more eye to eye, his cock pressing as deep inside as he can go, bottoming out. 

Keith breathes out through his nose and relaxes in increments. His cock, flagged a little during the process, plumps up a bit between their bellies. 

“I love you,” Shiro says once Keith opens his eyes to look at him again. 

“I know,” Keith answers. “You’ve said.” 

Shiro nods. “Just wanted to make sure you know I mean it.”

Keith laughs, soft and breathless and just a touch heartbroken. He strokes his hand across Shiro’s cheek and into his hair, kneading at the back of his neck. He whispers, “I know that, Shiro.” 

“Good. Okay,” Shiro answers. “Can I move?” 

Keith nods. “Go—” 

“Slow, yeah. I know.”

Keith laughs. “I was going to say go hard, but sure. Whatever you want.” 

Shiro gasps and does, indeed, jerk forward hard, surprised and turned on. Keith lets out a pleased gasp and locks his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, dragging him down against him. Shiro starts moving, fueled on by instinct and the sound of Keith panting his name. He feels Keith's body shift under him, open to him. Keith’s legs flex and tighten at his hips, his body clenches around Shiro’s cock as he thrusts inside. 

Despite Keith’s suggestion, Shiro builds his pace up. He starts slow, circling his hips and withdrawing slowly. Each stroke in, he goes a little harder, testing the right weight with each gasp from Keith, each moan of Shiro’s name. 

Shiro’s trembling again. He can’t help it. One of his bracelets gives a warning beep but he ignores it in favor of kissing Keith, who opens his mouth to him. He’s panting out Keith’s name, groaning when he feels Keith tighten and clench around him. It’s so much. Too much. 

He wants to last longer. He wants to last as long as Keith needs him to, but he keeps moving, keeps rocking into Keith’s body, meeting each arch, each gasp, each clench. Keith’s fingernails dig into his shoulders and hold tight. 

When Keith opens his eyes to look at him, their foreheads pressed together, his eyes burn into Shiro’s. There’s the slightest hint of yellow in the whites of his eyes that Shiro can’t place and his pupils look slit. Shiro’s mesmerized by that, staring in awe as Keith moves against him. 

Keith’s mouth is open, panting, and he wriggles his hips to get Shiro to stroke into him at the right angle. The nails pricking at his shoulders feel sharp, almost cat-like, and Shiro shudders in the feeling of it. 

“You’re good. So good. Just like that, Shiro,” Keith whispers, praise tumbling from his mouth, silenced only when Shiro bites his lip and then licks into him, swallowing his words. 

Shiro moans Keith’s name, wanting everything at once— to focus on the feeling of his tongue in his mouth, the flex of his thighs, the scrape of his nails, the burn of his eyes, the clench of his body around Shiro’s cock, how willingly he opens to him. 

“Keith,” he gasps. He wants to worship him, to swear his love and loyalty again and again. 

“Go on,” Keith whispers against his mouth. “Come. Come inside me. I want you to, Shiro.” 

Shiro gasps and then whimpers, nuzzling against Keith’s cheek and thrusting harder into him. “Not— you first. You first.” 

Keith laughs, breathless and airy, his cock nudging against Shiro’s stomach, finding friction only in the way Shiro bows over him. He tightens his legs around his waist, clenches around Shiro’s cock, as if he’s trying to force him over that edge first. 

That competition sparked, Shiro stops moving entirely, holding entirely still and pressing a hand between them to curl around Keith’s cock. 

Keith shouts, body arching. “Fuck! Shiro!”

Shiro twists his hand, merciless in the way he strokes Keith off. It’s a struggle to hold his own hips still, but it doesn’t matter. Keith’s practically mewling in his lap, hips pulsing in a vain attempt to get Shiro to move. 

Shiro wins, in the end— he watches Keith tense up, watches his eyes squeeze shut as he gasps out Shiro’s name and comes all over his hand. His come is hot, ropes of it on his stomach and across Shiro’s knuckles, a strange almost-purple color against Shiro’s skin. Shiro looks on in wonder, stroking him through it, bowled over by the clench of Keith’s body. It takes all discipline he has not to come just from the sight of Keith slumping, arms splayed out uselessly, his eyes blinking open and _definitely_ yellow-eyed and slit-pupiled. He’s breathtaking. 

Shiro can’t help but stare, mouth open. He whimpers when Keith fumbles for Shiro’s hand and lifts it, licking at his own come, eyes burning and hot as he stares at Shiro. 

Shiro rocks forward, helpless, and comes inside Keith with a moan of his name. 

He wants to go again immediately. He wants to hear Keith gasp his name like that well into the night. He belatedly realizes that they have done nothing to try to keep quiet, but he also can’t really care, staring down at Keith— sated and catlike now, lounging on the bed, hair in his eyes and chest swelling with his breath. 

Mimicking Keith, Shiro ducks down and licks at Keith’s chest, cleaning up the come there. It tastes different from Shiro’s own, although he can’t quite place the taste. It’s almost sweet in comparison. Keith pets his fingers through his hair. 

“Do I pull out?” Shiro asks. He knows he feels oversensitive once he’s come and hates to have his fingers left inside him once the deed’s done. But the idea of pulling away from Keith, feeling any distance between their bodies, feels too much.

“Mmm,” Keith hums, blinking a few times until his eyes look almost normal again. “Stay. If you want.” 

“Okay,” Shiro whispers. 

“Kiss me,” Keith tells him and Shiro’s quick to dip down and press his mouth to his, kissing him slow and sweet. Once they pull away again, Keith mutters, eyes still shut, “Can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten.” 

Shiro hums and kisses him again, then his cheek, then his temple. 

“Shiro?” Keith whispers, after a long moment of silence between them. 

“Yeah?” 

Keith hesitates. He looks off to the side, sweeping across the room, before settling back on looking at Shiro. He swallows. He looks nervous. 

“I… I love you, too,” Keith says, bracing himself, as if now that he’s said it, Shiro’s going to take it all back and throw it into his face. “For what that’s worth. I do. So much.” 

Shiro blinks back tears. He doesn’t realize how much he’d been waiting for it until he hears it now. “Yeah,” he whispers, watery. “Me too. Wow.” 

“Yeah,” Keith whispers. 

He kisses Shiro then, one hand cupping the back of his neck to keep him from pulling back. Keith draws out each sigh from Shiro, each breath of Keith’s name, his mouth soft against his. When they part, they rest their foreheads together again, just breathing in one another’s space. 

“What now?” Shiro asks. At Keith’s raised eyebrow he adds, “I mean— with everything.” 

Keith’s fingertips stroke the side of Shiro’s face. “I’m sorry. Because of me, the Garrison—” 

“It wasn’t because of you,” Shiro interrupts. “Don’t blame yourself.” 

Keith shakes his head. 

“I’m not…” _worth it_ , he doesn’t say. Helplessly, he adds, “You wanted to be a pilot.” 

Shiro still remembers the moment he heard Keith shouting at Iverson through the door about how he’d be crazy not to let Shiro into the Garrison, and how he’d known then that he’d follow Keith to the ends of the universe. 

“It’s okay, Keith. We don’t need them. We’ll find a way to fly again— together, this time. Yeah?” 

Keith smiles, brittle but sweet. “Yeah, Shiro.” 

“Then it’s going to be fine. I’ll fly again. And I have you. That’s all I need.” Shyly, Shiro looks at Keith, smiling. “I, um. Do have you, right?” 

Keith keeps smiling that brittle little smile, eyes a little glassy when he promises, “You do. Where would I be without my right-hand man?”

Shiro grins and crowds in to kiss Keith again and again and one more time for good measure. 

“Exactly.” 

There are things beyond this shack they’ll need to contend with— wherever Keith’s been, whatever energy Shiro’s been following out in the desert, whatever those three in the living room are here for, too. But all of that can wait. He feels Keith’s arms curl around him and hug him down against him, tethering him there. 

Shiro feels like he’s flying, but that feels too sappy to say. Instead, he settles for whispering Keith’s name and kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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